


Bridle

by Brokenjaw (Vrael)



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Baking and makeouts, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:06:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22826098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrael/pseuds/Brokenjaw
Summary: Mazikeen of the Lilim has never been anyone’s pet.
Relationships: Eve/Mazikeen (Lucifer TV)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 116





	Bridle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redledgers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redledgers/gifts).



Mazikeen of the Lilim has never been anyone’s pet. She is, was, and forever will be a creature of Hell. She’s the clicking of claws, the razor of sharp teeth. The barbed wire to Lucifer’s baseball bat. Where her King was brutal, she was slick. The knife no one saw coming. It was a point of personal pride, matter of vanity, and an indisputable fact.

It was an easy eternity, all things considered. Lucifer didn’t ask for much, just absolute and unwavering personal loyalty. And that she could do. And that she had done longer than any human dynasty. Serving him was second nature. Easy. Almost enjoyable in a way.

She dismembered traitors without thought. Diced up disobedient demons without care. Eviscerated anyone who stood in the way of the Throne. Her name echoed through the halls of Hell louder than her mother’s had ever had. She feasted on screams and sulfur as if it were her own personal banquet.

But today, Mazikeen of the Lilim is broken. 

She no longer makes vows at the feet of the Morning Star. No, her will belongs to another. To a woman who’s currently trying and failing to bake some sort of something. Who’s curves are concealed by a flour covered apron. Who’s batter covered hands are marking every available surface as if it were her own.

Mazikeen sighs for the mother of all humanity, as she had done for no other. She pines for the goddess who is currently wrestling with a machine called a Cuisinart. A mortal who is carved from bone and light and laughter and joy, who’s sleeve is encrusted with sugar. A woman with twinkling eyes, and a smile that curves warm like the sun.

Eve calls them ‘scones’, what she’s making, but that just sounds like rocks to Maze. That Eve is cooking up mud and sediment into little cakes. And visually, that seems to be the case - given the lump of grayish dough. But the demon tries to be supportive, even if being supportive means commenting from her perch on Decker’s kitchen counter. 

“I don’t get it,” Mazikeen huffs.

Eve smiles brightly, even though there’s a smudge of flour just at the tip of her nose. “What’s there to get? I’m baking.”

Maze nods over at the bowls of separate ingredients. “Where’s the weed?”

“Not everything has to have weed in it, silly. These are for Chloe and Trixie, for letting me crash for a while. They’re so nice, you know?”

She does know. Decker might be a tightass, but in the end she’s Tribe. And her kid makes her so damned soft it hurts sometimes.

“If you’re good,” Eve says, with a flutter of eyelashes. “I’ll let you lick the bowl.”

And Maze would pay any price to lick Eve’s _bowl_.

“What does being good entail, exactly?”

“Oh you know,” she worries her lip. “A little of this, A little of that. Maybe passing me the apple slices.”

Maze picks up the plate next to her and hops off the counter. 

“These?” Maze asks, gesturing to the chunks of rosy flesh. 

“Yes.”

Maze takes a piece of apple and chews. Loudly.

“Hey!” Eve cries, mock offended.

Maze takes another. The sweet snap of it against her teeth is loud in the otherwise quiet apartment. Being good, she’s found, has many definitions.

“Babe, c’mon. I need those,” she pouts. 

“I can see why you like these,” Maze chews appreciatively. “They taste great. Like an appletini.”

Eve rolls her eyes. “Appletinis taste like apples. Now give me that.”

She tackles her. All bouncing curls and the scent of clean earth. Mazikeen moves to take another bite, but Eve catches the slice with her teeth. She licks at the demons fingers, before pulling it away into her own mouth. 

But Mazikeen is quick. She is infernal grace. And lustful intent. Her lips cover Eve’s own, a slanting wicked smile. She coaxes the Apple from Eve’s own jaws with tongue and teeth and no small amount of tenderness. And in return for the stolen slice of fruit, Mazikeen gives. She pours in the honey of her longing. The sugary ache of desire.

Eve’s fingers trail along her scalp. Burning like cedar, flushing like a forest fire. She swallows Maze’s offering easily. A trade, for a trade. 

"Dearest,” Eve whispers against her cheek. “You have to let me finish baking.”

Maze only smiles as her thumb draws tiny circles right beneath the apron, right at the divot and the gentle curve of her hip. She’s unused to begging, but for her she would gladly get on her knees. And she’s gently yanking on belt loops to prove it. 

“Later,” Eve says, caressing her jaw. “Later. Just let me finish this first.”

“Fine,” Maze relents. “Whatever. Better make it worth my while though.”

“I’m always worth it,” she says with a wink, and pulls away.

Maze can still feel the heat of her skin, a ghost that’s not leaving any time soon. She could sleep in just the scrap of her warmth. She could wrap it up nice and tight, and twist it around her being until she can no longer hear the screams of the damned. Until the only thing left in her ears is Eve’s soft voice and even softer heartbeat. 

“We’ll see.”

Eve only rolls her eyes and goes back to fiddling with the Cuisinart. It needs to be plugged into the wall, but it is more fun to watch her struggle a little bit. She’s adorable when she’s flustered. 

Maze only watches quietly, reluctantly taking up a sponge to wipe away globs of batter. She could daydream later. Of silken panties, and skin she could roll in. Of laving up nectar and brine. But, even in the throes of painfully domestic cleaning, the now is more preferable than any half baked fantasy.

In this borrowed kitchen, painted gold by the afternoon light - Maze can be honest. She can lay herself bare under Eve’s open hands and open gaze. Mazikeen can be good. Mazikeen can be beautiful. She no longer wears the chains of pain and torment. No, she’s clothed in bright and breathtaking possibilities. She can lay down her blades and be made soft and shining.

She can be ordinary. She can be loved.

Mazikeen of the Lilim has never been anyone’s pet.

But for Eve, for Eve she can be tame.

  
  



End file.
